


Not At My Table

by Selly87



Series: Punishments & Pleasure [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Kneeling, Love, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Punishment, Rule Breaking, Rules, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Draco Malfoy, disobedient, timeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 03:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17779445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selly87/pseuds/Selly87
Summary: “Not at my table, pet,” I say and he nods in understanding.





	Not At My Table

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Dear Reader, please read the tags, this is very much a _BDSM_ -themed fic and by that I don't mean light undertones but full on BDSM. In saying that, I only believe in safe, sane and consensual BDSM, so this includes safewords, safesigns and aftercare. Still, if this topic is not your cup of tea, please don't read it. I won't be offended and I will post some fluff soon (*grin*). If you are curious, I welcome you to give this story a try but I **won't** accept any flames if you don't like it.
> 
> For the time being I'm trying to explore the "day to day" relationship aspect in a loving Dom/sub relationship. Well, it's not strictly "day to day" because it's not at 24/7 kind of relationship. However, the series' title is "Punishment & Pleasure" so you can definitely expect some kinky smut to show up at some point. At the moment I am, however, saving that creative part of my brain for my long story.

* * *

“Mainlanders…utterly plebeian! Really offensive, too, revoltingly so!”

I lean against the kitchen doorframe and cross my arms over my chest with a smirk.

There’s something truly erotic about watching Draco Malfoy prattle on about all the things he had to suffer through over the course of the last three days. He spent them in Brussels on an important business trip, though I have yet to discern what the actual purpose of the trip was. He didn’t mention it prior to his departure and he certainly hasn’t mentioned it yet.

So far, he has, however, informed me — _in minute detail no less_ — about the substandard service in his hotel, the watered-down coffee at breakfast, the restaurant’s inability to produce an adequate Seafood Chowder, the poor French skills of some of the businesspeople he had to waste his time with, the utter atrocity of serving red wine with fish…which apparently ought to be a crime punishable with life in Azkaban. _The list is endless!_

Since his arrival at the cottage and my polite request for him to start making dinner, he has been talking nonstop.

To be honest, I am quite surprised that he did not flat out hex me when I told him to start cooking, though the fact that I had my left hand in his hair and my right hand on his hip may have persuaded him to do as told.

_I wonder, pet, have you realised that we are not at home but at the cottage?_

I push myself away from the doorframe and take my seat at the head of the table. He absentmindedly places his plate on his serving mat before he places my plate in front of me and I click my tongue in silent disapproval.

He merely frowns, pulls out his chair, sits down, and immediately reaches for his fork. He picks it up and waves it around wildly as he continues to speak.

“I mean, they could have served a pauper’s dish of fish and chips with vinegar and it would have made more of an impression!” he complains and I must admit I am struggling to follow which dinner we are talking about presently because apparently all of them were crap.

He gives me an exasperated look when I merely raise an eyebrow at him.

“You wouldn’t understand, Potter, you have the grace of an elephant in a china shop.”

I smirk, though not at his affectionate insult, which he shouldn’t have made in the first place, we’ll let that one slip though, but rather at the blatant way he’s holding my gaze, as though it’s his prerogative to do so.

_Well, it isn’t, pet, not here. But it seems you have forgotten. Right along with the fact that you should serve me my food first and the fact that you do not look at me without my explicit permission or me waiving that rule._

I move to pick up my cutlery but pause and watch as he stabs at a large piece of chicken with quite a bit of venom.

“Draco,” I say warningly.

“What?” he scowls and brings the fork with the piece of chicken up to his lips.

“Draco,” I tell him again, this time a little more firmly.

“Don’t fucking Draco me, Potter, just spit it out already,” he grumbles, shoves the forkful of food into his mouth, and begins to chew.

I sigh.

And that was the last straw.

_I gave you plenty of warning, pet, and you had well over two hours to acclimatise. My patience is up, I’m afraid._

I slowly rise to my feet and place both my hands on the table. I summon his cutlery straight out of his hand and place it on the table right next to mine and well out of his immediate reach.

“What the fuck!” he snaps but instead of rising to the bait, I merely draw my wand and levitate his dinner plate over to the kitchen island.

“Potter, seriously what the f—”

“I strongly advise you not to repeat that word a third time,” I tell him calmly and holstering my wand again, I move to pull his chair away from the table, then stand in front of him.

I place a single finger underneath his chin and force it up. He looks up at me with wide eyes and I find them filled with a healthy dose of fear.

 _Good_ _. Realisation has finally started to kick in._

I look at him for several moments, watch his discomfort over the situation grow and when he starts to squirm, I coolly issue an order.

“Hands behind your back.”

He obeys without the slightest bit of hesitation.

“There, that’s better,” I smile and cup his chin with my hand. I squeeze just hard enough that he can feel the possessiveness of my touch but not hard enough to hurt him.

I’ve no reason to do so, do I?

“Tell me, my love, where are we?” I ask.

He swallows and blinks, then swallows again.  
  
“The cottage, Harry,” he breathes and he speaks so quietly, I barely hear his answer.

“What was that now? I can’t hear you when you mumble like that,” I tell him off for his unclear response.

He clears his throat and tries again.

“The cottage,” he says with a little bit more conviction.

I nod.

“Well, well, well, so you do know where we are. For a moment there I thought you were confused,” I smile. “Now, I know you’re very smart, so tell me, what happens when we’re at the cottage, my love?” I push.

I have the side of my leg pressed up against his and can feel the tremor that surges through him. I can’t see his hands but I imagine they are shaking just a little bit.

“At the cottage, I do as you say, Harry. I’m yours and I wish only to please you. If I fail to do so or break any of your rules, you may punish me as you see fit.”

“That’s right,” I nod. “I’m pleased that you remember at least that much. Tell me, what’s the exception to that rule?”

“If I am not mentally or physically able to adhere to the rules in our contract, I may state so and you will waiver our agreement immediately and without question,” he tells me and I am quite proud of him. He knows every single stipulation in our contact by heart. He knows it so well I could wake him up at two am in the morning and he would be able to recite our contract in its entirety and without the slightest bit of hesitation.

Mind you, you could wake me up and two am and I would be able to do the same, but that’s beside the point.

“And are you? Are you mentally or physically unable to adhere to the rules set forth in our agreement?” I ask, not allowing my mind to distract me from the issue at hand. “Consider your answer well, my love. Lie to escape punishment and I will know. Tell me a half-truth in hopes of a lesser punishment and I will know.”

“No, Harry. No, I am not,” he tells me.

“I thought so,” I nod and allow a faint smile to play around the edges of my mouth. I regard him for several minutes, allow him ample time to think over everything that’s happened since he arrived at the cottage and found me waiting for him in the living room.

I’m always lax in the beginning and I always give him time to acclimatise. Life is life and things happen that impact the way we act around each other here at the cottage.

Sometimes a break is necessary.

Sometimes he needs me to hold him for a weekend more than he needs to be on his knees at my feet.

Sometimes he needs me to love him tenderly and sweetly over the course of several long hours more than he needs me to tie him up and give him a good spanking.

That is life and I understand that.

He understands that.

That’s why we work. That’s why he trusts me explicitly and that’s why when he breaks the rules it’s because he needs me to be firm and not because he deliberately wants to disrespect me or what we have.

“Now then, you’ve had a moment to think. Tell me, is there anything at all that stands out to you that you should have perhaps not done?” I ask and patiently wait for his answer.

Usually, we share a long hug and a leisurely kiss when he gets to the cottage.

Today all I got was a chaste, half-arsed sort of kiss on the cheek before he excused himself upstairs to have a bath. He seemed in a mood, so I let that one slide. I also know that Portkey travel leaves him wound up, so again, no punishment.

I know my pet very well. I almost want to say _too well_ but there’s no such thing.

“I’ve not been very obedient, Harry,” he admits in a small voice that almost resembles that of a child rather than the grown man he is.

“No, you haven’t,” I affirm and decide not to call him out on his choice of phrasing. He hasn’t been obedient at all but he’ll realise that one without me pointing it out to him now.

Asking him to make dinner is usually a very good way to give him the time he needs to adjust. It gives him something to focus on and by the time the food is ready and he serves it, he’s generally ready to leave his everyday-persona behind. Instead, he becomes my acquiescent little pet, someone who is eager to obey me and please me.

Well, most of the time that’s what he becomes.

Sometimes he becomes a bratty little thing that needs a firm hand. My acquiescent little pet is still there, of course, but it’s well-hidden and I’ve got to unwrap it first before I get to play with it.

It’s a bit like waking up and realising that it’s Christmas morning.

“Tell me, my love, how exactly have you not been obedient?” I want to know and watch him swallow. He blinks several times and begs me with his eyes not to make him give voice to his transgressions.

He hates that part, truly hates it.

But there’s no better way to learn a lesson and he knows that as much as I do.

“Well?” I push. “Dinner is rapidly getting cold and if your prolonged silence results in me having to eat cold food I will add that to your list of violations.”

He sighs.

“I looked at you without permission, Harry. I served myself first. I ate before you did,” he pauses and I know it’s deliberate.

“Go on.”

“I—” he starts but trails off and looks positively uncomfortable in his own skin.

“I’m going to make this easy on you. Either you tell me that you don’t know, which we both know will be a lie, or you tell me your last transgression. If I have to tell you, I will add to your punishment. Last chance, pet, what will it be?”

“I used foul language and spoke out of turn,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he adds and closes his eyes.

I give him a moment, then request that he looks at me.

He grudgingly obliges and looks up at me with watery eyes.

_Cry all you want, pet, it won’t make me go soft on you. You had plenty of chances to talk to me about needing more time. You didn’t. You had plenty of time to think and acclimatise, too. You didn’t use it._

“Not at my table, pet,” I say and he nods in understanding. “On your knees,” I order and letting go off his chin, I move to sit down again.

He does not hesitate. I watch him gracefully slide off his chair and with his arms still behind his back, he moves to kneel beside me with his head firmly lowered.

“That’s much better. I’ll give you a bit more time to think about your rightful place in this house,” I say and not paying him any further heed, I pick up my knife and fork and start eating.

He doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t move. Just quietly kneels at my side with his head lowered and his wrists crossed behind his lower back.

_Sweet, sweet boy._

As I eat, I casually flick a reheating charm at his plate and cast a Stasis Charm to keep it warm. I’ve no intention of not allowing him to eat. I might not allow him dessert or occasionally take away his privilege to enjoy his favourite sweet treats but I would never deliberately starve him. Not even for a single night.

I could never do that to him. I would not want to do that to him. He knows why.

Making him wait half an hour for his dinner gets my message across quite nicely, no need to go over the top.

He enjoys sitting at the table with me, stealthily watching me eat it, while he quietly but impatiently waits for me to tell him how much I like it.

Ordinarily, sneaking glances at me while I’m eating the food, he’s made for me, would be him breaking the rules, but I always let him get away with it. Dinner is, however, the one and only time he gets away with it and he knows that.

It’s become a bit of an unwritten, unspoken rule between the two of us, a little game we play.

I smirk.

Dinner is quite delicious, exquisitely so.

Despite his mood and all his complaining, he tried is best. He always does.

Draco Malfoy cooking is quite a peculiarity, one that is at complete odds with the persona everyone gets to see.

I bite back the urge to chuckle and randomly recall that _Witch Weekly_ exclusive from two years ago. They photographed him in the kitchen, making treacle tart, my favourite dessert, and after they published the article, we had to get a P.O. box. The influx of mail, most of them marriage proposals from young witches and wizards from all over the country, was too much to deal with.

I eat a little more and find myself wanting to compliment his culinary skills but resist the temptation.

Not yet.

In this house, transgressions do not reap rewards.

I do not condone misbehaviour.

Not ever.

Unless it was an accident, then I’m open to negotiations. After all, I’m not a soulless monster, though he’s called me that on occasion when I’ve given him a particularly nasty punishment. He regretted it afterwards, of course.

I finish my dinner in silence, then get up and place my plate in the sink. I lean back against the worktop and watch him for a while.

He looks truly beautiful like that, although I much prefer him in that pose when he’s doing it to please me, not because I’ve put him in a timeout.

I decide to make him stew just that little bit longer and make myself a tea. I’d planned to get him to make the tea for me but sometimes one must adjust one’s plans to appropriately react to unforeseen circumstances.

I wait for the water to boil, steep some loose Assam tea leaves, and pour myself a cup. I add a splash of milk and spoonful of sugar, then return to the table but don’t sit down.

“Look at me, my love,” I say and he looks up at me.

I smile.

“Dinner was marvellous, you did well, pet,” I praise him and the beginnings of a faint smile ghost around the edges of his mouth.

“Thank you, Harry,” he says quietly and for his politeness, I reward him with briefly combing my fingers through his hair, then pull back.

I blow on my tea but it’s too hot to drink it, so I just inhale the fragrant scent and watch him for a while.

“Pity that you won’t get to eat your portion of it in my company. I would have very much enjoyed sharing tonight’s meal with you. Alas, you brought that on yourself,” I say with a shrug and his face falls.

I would have happily sat with him to eat dinner together but I am not going to sit here and waste my time while I watch him eat. That would send the wrong message and I am just not prepared to deal with the backlash of it all.

“Eat your food, then clean up the kitchen. After that I want you to go to your bedroom and take off all your clothes. You’ve been wearing them for long enough, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Good boy. You’ll find the items I want you to wear instead waiting for you on your bed,” I smile and wonder whether he’ll get all bratty when he sees those red lace panties and the golden collar, I laid out for him while he was busy cooking.

Somehow, I doubt it. But with Draco Malfoy, you just never know.

I bite back a smirk, blow on my tea again and take a careful sip. I regard him with a moment longer, then simply turn around and leave.


End file.
